


Smells Like Teen Spirit

by beederiffic



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Body Modification, First Kiss, First Time, Horny Teenagers, Humor, M/M, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beederiffic/pseuds/beederiffic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Spock are turned into stereotypically moody teenagers by an alien being</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smells Like Teen Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> I dreamed this last night. The whole thing. It was awesome. Additional pairing: sneaky pre-slash Bones/Chekov

“I don't know, it was, like, this big green cloud thing, I already told you. Why don't you ask him, he knows everything.”

“It's okay, Jim, calm down.”

“Man, I'm totally cool, I don't need to calm down. Just, get off my back, is all.”

Bones sighs and rubs tired fingers over his jaw, watching Jim slump even further down in the chair, so far his ass must be hanging half-off the seat by now. He turned to Spock, as bolt-upright as ever, hands calmly folded on the table in front of him.

“Spock. Can you shed any light on the matter?”

“Given that I am not an incandescent light source capable of thermal emission, nor a chemiluminescent entity, it is unlikely.”

Apparently even Vulcan teenagers can be snotty little punks. Bones can't miss Jim's quick grin across at Spock, “Nice.”

Nor the way Spock's spine straightens just that little bit more, sending the very faintest disapproving look Jim's way as if Jim's endorsement is absolutely of no consequence to him whatsoever. 

“Do either of you suppose that, if we can find Jim's big green cloud thing, we can somehow persuade it to turn you back?”

Jim simply shrugs, then starts picking at his thumbnail. Spock gives Bones a proto-brow hike, his voice dripping with icy sarcasm.

“It is not as if I had a chance to meld with it, Doctor.”

Jim snickers softly, picks at his thumbnail a little more before sticking it in his mouth for a chew, looking across at Spock from under his eyelashes. Bones bites back a few choice admonishments, takes a deep breath.

“Perhaps you'll both be a little more helpful after some rest. Bedtime, I'm confining you both to your rooms.”

“Huh? It's not even that late! No fair, I wanted to hang out with Chekov and Sulu.”

“You haven't had any rest since the away team brought you back. Get some sleep, guys, we'll figure this all out in the morning.”

A soft exhalation of breath out of Spock's nose, perhaps a Vulcan version of an acerbic snort, a low mutter under his breath that could almost qualify as petulant. “I have yet to be convinced of that likelihood.”

~*~

For the millionth time in the last forty-eight hours, Bones curses the harebrained command structure that places him firmly at the top of the tree if both the captain and first officer are incapacitated for medical reasons, which this just about falls under in the most convoluted way possible. That'll be the last time he ever lets both Jim and Spock off the ship on the same away team, that's for goddamn sure. Poetic justice, perhaps, that Jim's adolescent need to jump into the thick of things regardless to regulations led to this, his reappearance on the transporter pad as a skinny sixteen year old with an similarly-aged Spock beside him doing his absolute best not to to look surprised by the whole situation. Maybe a crate of bourbon would persuade Scotty to reconsider that whole second officer proposal because Bones is damned if he's going to let himself go through all this again in the future.

“Jim, get your boots off the table, people are expected to eat off of that.”

“Then they should use a plate.”

“You want me to make that an order, mister?”

A heavy, heartfelt sigh and much rolling of eyes as Jim removes his feet from the table top and sits up, tugging down his black undershirt. Almost adorable, both him and Spock in their sombre black undershirts this morning as if by prior arrangement. Bones wonders if either of them are planning to replicate a leather jacket later on, perhaps a copy of Catcher in the Rye or some Kerouac, a toothpick to chew on. 

“Have they eaten?”

Now, here's a teenager he can deal with. Chekov sitting up brightly, a clear smile. Cute, tumbling curls . . . Bones blinks, forces his mind back on track.

“Yessir! The Capta – I mean, uh, mister Kirk had pancakes and bacon, and mister Spock had some toast with some juice and an apple. Sir.”

“Good, good. And you're okay with babysitting them this way?”

“Hey, listen, grandpa, I don't need some -”

“Doctor, I assure you that I am not an infant and -”

“Fellas, fellas, it's just a figure of speech, relax. Chekov?”

“We are good, sir. I am happy to have the company.”

“Okay, well, try to keep them out of trouble and I'll keep you all informed of the progress of tracking down this cloud thing.”

“No problem, sir!”

Chekov has to be the galaxy's greatest teenager. Jim rolls his eyes again, taking a long drink of milk and letting out a showy belch, hand stuffed into the waistband of his pants while Spock purses his lips in subtle disgust and pointedly returns to reading the PADD in front of him as though Bones is the thing of least possible interest in the immediate area.

~*~

“Regardless to the emotionality and sheer volume of your verbal argument, the legality of that move remains in question.”

“That is totally ad hominem and therefore logically fallacious, as vaguely snide referrals to my personality traits, such as emotionality, have absolutely no bearing on the legitimacy of my chess move. In other words, suck it.”

“The accuracy of my statement stands and I see little advantage in debating the finer points of logic with someone such as yourself.”

“You are so stuck up your own ass it is unbelievable.”

“I apologize, I am only able to speak Vulcan and Federation Standard fluently. To my admittedly-untrained ears you sound as if you are speaking gibberish. Perhaps Lieutenant Uhura may come to my assistance.”

“Lame. How the hell am I supposed to understand what you just said, if I don't speak Standard? But you addressed it directly to me. Explain that, mister won't-debate-logic.”

“My reasoning would be beyond the capabilities of your understanding.”

“I am going to smack the shit out of you if you don't take that back.”

“I welcome your attempt.”

“Doctor!”

Chekov looks just about ready to kiss him in relief as Bones crosses the rec room at a run and shoves Jim back into his chair, turning to Spock with a hissed “Cut it out and sit your backside down before I hypospray the legs out from under you.” Turning to a flustered, blushing Chekov, “What in hell's name happened?”

“They were playing chess. I went to get us some drinks and when I returned . . . I am so sorry, doctor, they would not listen to me.”

“Not your fault, kid.” He pats Chekov awkwardly on the shoulder for perhaps a touch too long, never quite having developed that easy way Jim always seemed to have with comforting crew members. Yet another reason why this type of double fuck-up can't be allowed to happen again. “All of you, come with me.” 

“Are we going to the bridge? Awesome.”

“Nope, got something much more suitable in mind. Seems to me, you've got a little excess energy that needs working off.”

~*~

“I don't know, Doctor. I don't have the time to babysit the wee one and I'm sure as shi-” Scotty's eyes slide over to Jim as he corrects himself, “as sugar I don't trust him to keep hisself out of trouble.”

Jim makes a contemptuous ffth sound between his teeth, folds his arms across his chest. “You are aware that I'm not actually sixteen, right?”

“Fine then, big man. The shunt relays need cleaning out, it's a mucky job and you're skinny enough to get right in there. There's some old overalls and gloves in storage closet C.”

“Is he going to get stuck doing grunt work, too?” A hotly disdainful look at Spock, who gazes back with resolute, scornful indifference.

“What I may or may not spend the next few hours doing is not of your concern.”

“I am the Captain, y'know. Your captain.”

“Unless I am very much mistaken, which is unlikely, you are not currently on active duty.”

“Chuh. Whatever.” Jim stares at Spock for a moment longer with the frowning intensity that only a pissy teen can truly manage, then turns to slouchily cross Engineering to grab a scrubby bundle of grease-streaked orange cloth out of the bottom of the closet, turning his back shyly for some unknowable reason as he begins to pull it on over his undershirt and pants with a deeply put-upon air.

~*~

“Scotty! You got Jim and Spock there with you?”

“Jim's here, Doc, just where you left him, over by the – oh. Hang a second, I can't see his . . . nope, looks like we've got a rogue on the loose.”

“Thought as much, that makes two of them, Chekov's lost Spock. Goddamn teenage hormones.”

“Do I want to ask?”

“I guess you didn't notice the way they kept glaring at each other. I'll get back to you.”

~*~

It takes six crew members just under fifteen minutes to track them down, wrapped around each other behind a bulkhead in a deserted shuttle bay, Spock flushing pale green and smudged with grease from Jim's hands and face, both of them kiss-rumpled and sullen. Bones sticks his hands on his hips and gives them the exact same glare his father did with him the time they found him playing Doctor with the twins next door.

“You don't think I have better things to do with my time than this?”

Jim's clearly deciding to brazen it out, hands crossed in front of his crotch, overalls hanging half-off him, undershirt tugged halfway up his torso. “What? We're not exactly on duty.”

“You couldn't have told Chekov or Scotty where you were going? You can't just wander around the ship without keeping us informed of your whereabouts.”

“Apparently we discovered the facility with which to do so.”

“Now is not the time for smart-alecky asides, Spock. This was completely irresponsible and you both know it.”

“Geez. Sorry, dad.”

“Well, that's one up from Grandpa, I guess.” Bones' communicator beeps at him and he tugs it out of his pocket, flipping it open efficiently. “This had better be good news, Sulu.”

“Sure is, Doc. We've found the cloud and it's sensitive to phaser fire.”

“Thank heavens for small mercies. Any ideas?”

“Get Scotty to beam down with a bunch of forcefield emitters. We can set them up with remote activation and use it as a form of holding pen. We then simply need to figure out how to get the cloud to go in there.”

Jim starts hopping from foot to foot urgently. “Hey! I know this one! Lemme talk to him.”

“Jim . . .”

“C'mon! I totally know this stuff! You guys don't know jack shit about tactics.”

“The Captain does possess a natural ability in predicting the likely actions of simplistic life forms and, I have observed, usually acquires the tactical advantage.”

“Was that a compliment?”

“If you wish it to be.”

A blushing Jim nudges an almost-smiling Spock with his knee. “Shut up.”

“I had no further points of discussion to make.”

“God, you're such a dork, I don't know why I . . . Bones, c'mon. Listen to Spock, I'm, like, a genius with this stuff.” 

Bones sighs, hands over the comm unit, which Jim grabs excitably with a beaming grin.

“Dude! You totally need the group to split into, like, I dunno, four teams? Two for driving the cloud thing backwards towards the emitter ring with low phaser fire, then the other two circle back in a parallel formation on either side with a scattered, randomized firing pattern so the cloud thing can't, like, make a run for it. You have to lay it down on that mofo. Can I beam down and help? I'm awesome with a phaser.”

Bones snatches the comm back with an admonishing glare at Jim that's about as much use as trying to complete a body scan with a salt shaker. “You get all that, ensign?”

“Sounds like a plan, sir, I'll inform security. We'll keep you updated. Sulu out.”

~*~

“I thought I told you I had better things to do with my time than follow your horny teenage self around this goddamn boat.”

Jim tugs the sheet an inch further up his waist. “Bones, if you don't have anything to actually discuss with me, I'm a little busy . . .”

“I think I can guess who you're getting busy with, too. Did your teenage fumbles spark something undeniable?”

“'With whom', Doctor, would be the accepted phraseology.” 

Bones can just make it out across the length of Jim's quarters, that low voice every bit as insufferably superior as usual.

“You know what they say about the value of unsolicited opinions, Spock?” 

Jim sighs, tugs the sheet up once more, looks back over his shoulder with a longing, smoldering glance. “Honestly, Bones, unless there's some kind of pressing ship's business -”

Bones rolls his eyes, shrugs, presses the flask of Saurian Brandy into Jim's hand with a pat to his arm. “You know what? Mazel tov. I was coming down to help you celebrate your return to adulthood but, considering you look about as smug as a tick on a fat dog right now, I'm guessing you got the jump on me there, too.”


End file.
